Enigma
by virtual-toast
Summary: A girl covered in blood is found in Sam and Dean's hotel room. Why is she two states away from home with no memory, and why is a demon harassing her? M for violence


She woke suddenly and was shocked to find herself standing on two feet. Gemma's gaze snapped upwards and she stared around, gaping at the darkened, shabby motel room she found herself in. For several long, agonizing moments she had absolutely no idea what to do with herself. Where was she, and how in hell had she been in her bedroom one second and… wherever this was the next?

As her eyes darted around to take in more of her confusing and increasingly terrifying surroundings, she realized her right hand had a grip on something. Peering down, Gemma cried out when she discovered a long, razor sharp hunter's knife dangling from her fingers; the kind with a heavily serrated blade, designed to inflict the maximum amount of pain on its victims. She dropped it out of pure fright, and in doing so noticed the blood.

It was everywhere. Her hands and arms were coated in it up to her elbows, and it was strewn all over the room. Nothing had been spared; it stained sections of the walls, the carpet, the two single beds, and even one of the fins of the ceiling fan.

Gemma stared down at her hands again, incredulously. What the hell had happened? And more importantly, _what the hell was going on?_ She desperately tried to collect her thoughts, to figure it out, to remember any single shred of evidence, but found it was like trying to catch water in a sieve. All the while her breath was quickening in panic until, in the silence, she heard two tiny metallic clicks from outside. She'd barely registered them when an explosion of splinters erupted from behind her and made her freeze to the spot.

"What d'you think you're doing, bitch?"

Gemma flung her hands in the air and found that terror had taken her ability to breathe.

"Turn around. Slowly," the voice commanded.

Gemma complied and turned on the spot, her breath finally coming in ragged, frightened gasps and her eyes glued to the ruined carpet. She took in two pairs of boots before gradually picking her chin up to look into their owners' faces. Two men stood before her, both aiming silver handguns directly at her forehead. One was taller than the other, with longer hair, but he also appeared to be the younger of the two.

"I'll ask again; what d'you think you're doing here?" the shorter man asked.

Staring between them in disbelief, Gemma barely managed to stammer out an answer.

"…I-I- what? I d-don't know, please… where am I?"

"Oh, come on, just once I wish you sons of bitches wouldn't try and play dumb with us," complained the man.

"Dean, I-I don't think she's… you know…" the taller one interjected softly, yet his gun didn't move an inch. "I mean, she got in here, so she must've crossed the salt line-"

"Dammit, Sam, why d'you have to try and be best buddies with every friggin' thing we hunt? We've seen demons before that can break through Devil's Traps, so surely there must be some that can jump over a little line of salt."

"If she was a demon who wanted to kill us, she'd have done it by now, Dean."

_Did they just call me a demon?_ Gemma thought to herself. _Oh God, these guys are insane!_

The men continued arguing as Gemma's eyes swung back and forth between the two with growing confusion and fear. She had no clue what they were talking about and, frankly, was too frightened to find out. As their attentions drifted away from Gemma she mentally decided that it was probably a good idea to get out of there before 'Sam' and 'Dean' turned trigger-happy. She surveyed the room as much as possible without the other two noticing, and she felt a small breeze blow onto her back. Miraculously, there was a large window directly behind her, and it was wide open. An idea quickly formed itself in her mind.

Focusing her eyes on the broken doorway behind Sam and Dean, Gemma audibly gasped and interrupted their dispute with her best impression of a melodrama.

"Oh my God… what the-? What the hell is THAT?" she shrieked in mock horror.

The guys fell for it and, almost comically, twisted around to face the empty doorframe, guns at the ready. Gemma took her chance; she span on her heel and dove through the open window, almost being consumed by the thick darkness of night. Rolling to her feet across a patch of gravel, she sprinted into the hotel parking lot.

She heard the men shouting as they realized what had happened. They jumped through the window one after the other and took off in pursuit of Gemma, but she was already on the other side of the parking lot. She barely had time to thank her luck for the cover of darkness and the huge expanse of forest that stood on the boundary in front of her before one of the men yelled from behind and she forced herself onwards.

Gemma stumbled down the grassy slope towards the forest as fast as she could without falling and threw herself between two trunks, disappearing into the trees. She continued sprinting in god knows what direction for a good five minutes until she felt sure that the men weren't following her. She slowed to a brisk walk, her lungs burning as they gulped in the freezing night air. If she could just make it to a road then she could hitch a ride – she really didn't care who from at this point – and hopefully find out where in hell she was.

After briefly regaining some stamina she picked up running again, mostly just wanting to be rid of the forest. About ten minutes later she finally, thankfully, arrived at a long, thin country road with no cars in sight in either direction. Sighing, Gemma sat down on a patch of grass only to rediscover the blood staining her arms and hands, not to mention her favorite pair of jeans and a tank top she didn't recall owning. She grimaced and reached over to a nearby puddle to wash herself off; she wasn't going to get a ride in her current state. Once she had removed as much of the blood as possible she got up and began strolling along the side of the road, shivering, and with her right thumb sticking out into the growing dawn light. Gemma guessed it was about five in the morning and suddenly felt incredibly tired.

What felt like years later, the first vehicle Gemma had seen mercifully pulled up next to her extended arm. She barely registered it due to her immense fatigue.

"Need a ride?" drawled a gruff accent from within the truck as the man opened the passenger door.

"Yeah, thanks," Gemma breathed exhaustedly, dragging herself into the seat and slamming the door behind her.

"No offence, but… you look like crap," the man commented, grimacing as he took in the bloodstains on her clothes and what must have been enormous black rings around her eyes.

"I know." Gemma looked up into the man's face and offered a tired grin to show that she wasn't offended. The man was large and round, with a kind yet stern face hidden behind a full beard, sideburns and a trucker cap.

"Just… just get me outta here. Nearest bus station, whatever."

"You lost, miss?"

"You could say that," she sighed. "I just need to get out of here. The name's Gemma, by the way."

After a moment's hesitation, the man nodded in apparent acceptance. "Bobby. I just gotta meet with some… uh, associates a few towns over, so if you don't mind there'll be a bit of a delay on the trip to your bus station."

"Alright. I'm probably going to fall asleep over here anyway, just so you know."

"Fine with me," Bobby said as he shifted into gear and pulled back onto the road.

"Just get me outta here," Gemma whispered again. She placed her head gently on the windowsill and fell asleep immediately.

* * *

Gemma lifted her head from its resting place and blinked groggily, wiping the sleep from her eyes and gradually discerning that she was still, in fact, in the passenger seat of Bobby's truck. She yawned and rubbed her eyes a second time, wondering how long she'd slept for. Bobby was nowhere in sight; Gemma assumed he was meeting with his 'associates'. Cracking her stiff neck, she gazed out through the windscreen to find full daylight and scenery made up of the oranges and browns of fall. Bobby had pulled over on a side road near the highway, which was surrounded by yet more forest.

Deciding to stretch her legs, Gemma opened the passenger door and slid out, shutting it behind her. Hitching up her jeans a little, she felt the dead leaves crackle under her feet as she took a few steps. She spread her arms as she yawned again. She could hear the muffled sounds of a few cars passing by on the main highway, but was unable to see them through the trees.

Gemma turned and strolled towards the back of the truck, noticing that a big, black Chevrolet Impala had pulled up behind Bobby's ride. It was a huge, older model, but had apparently been kept in surprisingly good shape. She smiled lightly, appreciating its beauty, and widened the grin when she spotted Bobby standing at the open trunk of the Impala to assure him she was okay. The smile slid from her face, however, when the lid of the trunk was dropped shut and two other men stepped out from behind it.

Dean and Sam.

Gemma reacted on impulse, making a break for the trees to her left and mentally kicking herself for believing they would not try to follow her. She dodged left and right as she sprinted, both to avoid hitting the tree trunks and to hopefully throw off the pursuing men. She heard the _crunch, crunch, crunch_ of leaves being destroyed as the two pairs of boots pounded after her and she willed herself to run harder and faster than she ever had before.

Dean caught her first. Gemma felt the impact as he launched himself onto her back and bodily tackled her to the ground. Her face hit the dirt, blood blossoming from her nose, and she shrieked as her head was pulled back by the hair. Before she could protest, Dean slammed her forehead against the ground and everything went black.

* * *

Her head pounding, Gemma opened her eyes to slits and allowed them to adjust to the light. It seemed to be mid-afternoon, but the light in the room was dim regardless. She groaned and clutched her forehead, then made to reach for the painkillers in her handbag when suddenly she remembered what had happened before she blacked out. She felt her face nervously, noting the dried blood under her nose and across her forehead, accompanied by a large, painful bump near her right temple. Sitting up quickly, the pain in her skull doubling, she began to panic when she realized she was lying on a musty mattress, and that her left hand was cuffed to the rusted yet sturdy metal frame.

Gemma tugged at the cuffs to no avail until she noticed a thick white bandage around her left forearm. She poked it gingerly and recoiled with a hiss when it, too, burned with pain; it felt as though the skin underneath hosted a large gouge. Taking a quick, frightened glance around, she concluded that she was still wearing her bloody clothes from the night before, and that she was situated in some sort of abandoned house.

_Shit._

She went back to yanking frantically on the handcuffs when a figure rounded the doorframe into the room; she looked up into the face of Sam. Gemma might have launched into full-blown freak-out mode if it hadn't been for his softened features and the fact that he was holding two paper cups of steaming hot coffee. He handed one to her before taking a seat on an old plastic milk crate opposite the bed.

"Hey," was all he offered at first. Gemma just stared at him, unsure whether she was supposed to be drinking the coffee or screaming for help or if she should just pass out again. Sam shifted uncomfortably, taking a sip from his drink before continuing.

"Er, sorry about the cuffs. Dean's got the key and he's out at the moment, so you'll have to wait until he gets back. Sorry," he repeated, with a sheepish grin.

"Uh…" Gemma was trying to find the words that accurately conveyed every question that was running through her mind. "I, uh… what the hell is going on?" She felt like her brain might explode if she didn't get some answers. Sam cleared his throat.

"Yeah, right, so I guess you're pretty confused. There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna jump to the chase. Demons are real." He waited for a reaction but Gemma was unable to give one, so he rallied. "Uh, you know, when we found you in our hotel room all covered in blood and carrying a knife and with a dead, disemboweled guy in the bathroom-"

_"There was a disemboweled guy in the bathroom?"_ Gemma was pretty sure she _was_ going to pass out again.

"Yeah, but, uh, that's not the problem," stammered Sam, trying to keep her calm and stay on topic. "You can understand how we thought something was fishy about you, thus the guns. I'm really sorry we scared you like that… and that Dean, you know, kinda beat the crap out of you…" Sam rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "What I'm trying to say is that we don't think you're a demon anymore."

Gemma sighed exasperatedly, taking it all in and wondering if this was what it felt like to go insane. She took a swig from her coffee before responding.

"Well that's… good, I guess. How did you establish that? Not that I'm arguing."

"We did some tests." Gemma looked like she was about to freak out again, but Sam interrupted her. "Not- not anything horrible, just… here, let me show you."

He retrieved a duffel bag from across the room and took out a metal canister. Popping the lid off, he offered it to Gemma.

"It's just rock salt; grab some." Gemma reached in and took a pinch. "See, that means you're not a demon. Demons can't touch salt, or cross salt lines for that matter."

"Demons can't touch salt? Why?"

"Eh, it's a purity thing, long story." He fished out a glass flask with clear liquid in it. "This is holy water. Take a sip."

He handed it over and Gemma drank from it, then washed it down with more coffee. "What does the holy water mean?"

"Same thing as salt, really. A demon double-checker."

"Right." She handed the flask back as Sam held up a small knife.

"This one was a little more complicated, unfortunately," he said as he indicated the bandage on her forearm. "When you had no adverse reaction to being cut with this pure silver knife, it proved you're not a werewolf or a shapeshifter."

Gemma nudged her bandage again. "Whatever it takes to convince you, I guess."

"Yeah, but then Dean was all angry that he didn't get to shoot anything, so he and Bobby went to get us some food," Sam finished, sitting back on his perch. "Which gives us time for a bit of a chat."

"Alright then," Gemma cut in quickly. "Who are you guys, and how on earth do you know so much about demons and whatever?" She was almost done with her coffee and prayed silently that Dean and Bobby were bringing back more.

"Well I'm Sam Winchester, and you've met my brother Dean. Bobby Singer's kinda our uncle. We're hunters; as in, we hunt… supernatural stuff."

"How'd you get stuck with that job?"

Sam sighed. "It's a long story."

"And you just… what, travel everywhere, killing bad stuff? Do you have a house?"

"We pretty much live in the Impala. Bobby's got a house back in Sioux Falls, but he's not there all the time."

"Wow… that sucks."

Sam just smiled tolerantly. "So, what's your name?"

She grimaced embarrassedly, realizing she hadn't even shared the most basic of details. "Gemma. Gemma Harrison."

"I had you pegged as more of a Kate," Sam mused. "Care to tell me how you ended up in our hotel room covered in blood?"

Gemma set her empty coffee cup on the floor and looked up at Sam.

"That's the real reason I'm still in these cuffs, isn't it?"

"Better safe than sorry," Sam shrugged.

She sighed. "I honestly have no idea. The last thing I remember, I was sitting on my bed at home, reading through one of my college essays, and then the next minute I was standing in all that blood with that knife in my hand…" She trailed off as the details of the gruesome scene came back to her and made her feel sick to the stomach. "You probably know the rest from there."

"Where are you from?"

"Pittsburgh."

"Well, you're only two states over, so I guess it could be worse." Off Gemma's puzzled expression, Sam added, "We're in Holton, Indiana. Look, I hate to tell you this, but it's likely you were possessed by a demon." He stood and fished a tiny key from his back pocket. "Unfortunately, it looks like this demon has used you as a vessel to murder someone, but please don't freak out, we already checked the security footage at the hotel; nobody saw you. It's probably still best if you lay low for a while, though."

Sam bent down and unlocked the cuffs, and Gemma let out another huge sigh, this one relieved yet tired, rubbing the raw skin around her wrist. She still didn't have any reason to believe that these guys hadn't just kidnapped her, and the apparent murder she had committed was simply terrifying to think about. However, given her situation when she woke up and how Sam was behaving now, she was willing to believe practically anything and a certain level of trust kept her grounded.

"You got any beer?"

* * *

Hours later, Sam and Gemma were seated at a table, engaged in light conversation. Sam had given Gemma a spare pair of sweatpants and a shirt and allowed her to clean herself up. In the midst of everything, it was refreshing to be relatively bloodstain-free for the first time in over twenty four hours.

In the middle of a sentence, Sam and Gemma's heads perked up at the sound of the Impala's engine rumbling its way down the abandoned driveway. The engine cut out, two doors slammed and heavy footfalls brought Dean and Bobby back inside, laden with takeaway food – mostly Chinese and pizza – and, thankfully, Gemma thought, beer. With a somewhat sour glance at her, Dean stomped over and deposited his purchases on the table in front of Gemma and Sam, before popping open a beer and taking a seat of his own. Bobby did the same, hesitantly, before clearing his throat.

"So, uh…" he glanced between Sam and Gemma with what could have been nervousness. "We all on the same page here?"

"Yeah," Sam grinned. "All good." Gemma offered an appreciative smile to back him up.

Dean nodded at his brother and pulled out his money clip, flipping a ten dollar note across the table at Sam. Gemma looked between them inquisitively.

"I bet Sam that you were a demon," Dean grumbled. "Can't say I'm not relieved, though. Dig in; we bought stuff for you too."

"Awesome," she breathed, dragging a box of noodles and a bottle of beer towards herself.

They ate in silence, enjoying the ability to relax and recuperate for at least a little while. Gemma devoured her noodles so fast she had to stop to catch her breath; at the taste of food in her mouth an immense hunger hit her like a speeding train. She suddenly felt as though she hadn't eaten for weeks. Gemma finished the noodles before Dean even made a dent in his hefty slice of apple pie, and she knocked back half of her beer while grabbing for two slices of pizza. Her appetite did not go unnoticed, but the three men silently decided it would be better to keep their thoughts to themselves for the time being.

The food disappeared rapidly as the group ate until they were full. They continued working through the beer as Sam lit a fire in the dilapidated fireplace and sunk into an armchair with an old book. Bobby went outside to make a few stern phone calls and Dean laid his substantial gun collection out on the now litter-strewn table, dismantling and cleaning it piece by piece. Unsure of what to do with herself, Gemma settled for curling into a chair on the hearth across from Sam. Wishing she had a laptop or at least her phone to distract herself with, she simply propped a hand under her chin and watched the embers dance at the base of the fire.

Bobby finished his fourth call of the night, snapping his phone shut and shuffling back inside. He crossed to stand by the fire and began warming his hands. Gemma could feel anxiety building up inside of her as her thoughts drifted and she began to dwell on recent events. She remembered all too suddenly that she actually still had no clue what had happened to her or how long she had been gone from her home. Her worries finally got the better of her.

"So, um, can we talk about all this?" she asked quietly, breaking the silence. "I'm kinda going crazy over here."

"What's there to talk about?" Dean called from across the room as Sam put his book down.

"Well, you know, I'm two states over from where I live and have no memory of how I got here. And I also have no idea how long I've been gone. Doesn't that worry you? 'Cause it sure as hell worries me."

"You'd be surprised by the stuff we come across, sweetheart."

"What date do you think it is?" Sam leaned forward curiously, ignoring his brother's comment.

"The last I remember was October 8th."

Sam's face paled. "That was a week and a half ago."

Gemma didn't know what to do with this information. She managed to keep her fear mostly in check but couldn't help her panicked voice squeaking as she spoke.

"_A week and a half?_ Oh, God. Oh God, no, that's not good. I-I missed all my exams, not to mention- oh God, my roommate will be so worried, and my parents probably know by now-!"

Bobby turned his back on the fireplace. "And a week and a half ago is coincidentally when we started tracking that sonuvabitch."

This apparently caught Dean's attention, because he immediately dropped his cleaning rag onto the table and came over to sit on the couch.

"What do you mean? Who are you tracking?" Gemma was confused.

"We've been on the trail of a certain demon for a few weeks now," Dean informed her. "We caught on in Kentucky actually, but then lost track of it until we made our way to Indiana."

"We figured out that it had discovered our trail, too, which is what led us back to our own hotel room," added Sam grimly. "It led us to you."

"We're guessing it picked you up in Pittsburg; rode you all the way to Holton when we found you, then skedaddled," finished Bobby.

Gemma took a few deep breaths before continuing. "So you're telling me… that I was possessed by this thing? For _weeks?_ How do you know I only killed one person?"

Sam shifted over to sit on the arm of Gemma's chair, taking her right hand firmly in his.

"Gemma, you have to understand that none of this was your fault, okay? You can't blame yourself for what the demon made you do, because it'll destroy you, believe me. We'll keep you safe; you just have to lay low for a while and then we'll work on getting you back home. Alright?"

This seemed to placate Gemma, at least for the time being. "Okay. But are you sure this thing won't come back?"

"Positive."

"Demons usually don't like revisiting vessels they've already used," explained Dean. "Plus, there's no way a demon can get to you again when you're with us."

Pausing for a moment, Gemma eventually nodded, then rubbed her eyes.

"I'm going to sleep."

"Me too," Dean agreed, quickly thundering upstairs to where there was apparently a second bedroom.

Without another word, Gemma moved to the adjoining room and lay down on the same musty mattress she had woken up on, welcoming the darkness of slumber. Sam threw a blanket over her and went back to his book.

* * *

Dean awoke to a strange feeling that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He rolled over tiredly, pushing the thin blanket away and squinting as the morning light hit his eyes. The bed creaked as he sat up and his eyes finally focused in on Gemma standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame.

She appeared much healthier than she had the day previous, and Dean noted that a night's proper rest had probably done her good. Smirking slightly, he took in her rosy cheeks and cascading golden-brown hair. He caught himself appreciating her hips, their curves accentuated by her stance against the doorframe. He concluded that it was a rather nice sight to wake up to.

"Gemma?" he croaked finally. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she smiled, "just thinking."

"Thinking about what? How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long. Half an hour maybe."

Dean stood, his brow furrowed confusedly at her behavior, and crossed the room to stand in front of her. "So what were you thinking about?"

"Oh, just… thinking about how lucky I was that you guys found me."

"It's fine, Gem. It's kinda what we do."

"Yeah, but… I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"Seriously dude, it's nothing to worry about. Since you woke me up, let's go get some coffee, eh?"

Gemma took a step into the room, closing the door gently behind her, and Dean had to shuffle back a little to give her space.

"Still, I just want to thank you, you know?" She looked up at him with doe eyes, her lips twisted into a slight smirk and an expression spanning her features that was somewhere between lust and malice. Dean, slightly bewildered, chuckled nervously.

"Whoa, Gemma, wait a second, where is this coming from?"

She took another step, forcing him back two.

"You don't realize how attractive you are, do you?"

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Jeez, uh, Gemma, I don't really- uh…"

"You're very attractive…" she whispered almost hoarsely, tugging the front of his shirt to close the distance between them. She leaned up and pressed an aggressive, passionate kiss on his lips.

Dean was taken by surprise, but before his brain could figure out what the hell this girl was doing he found himself kissing her back. He wrapped his arms around her thin waist and pulled her flush against his torso. Gemma kissed him harder and the momentum sent them stumbling backwards over the edge of the bed to land on the mattress.

Gemma kissed him again, fiercely, and Dean made to run his hands through her hair when she suddenly pulled away and began tugging at his belt. Dean knew he should protest, should put a stop to what was about to happen because this whole situation was absurd, but the rational part of his brain had shut down and he was unable to formulate the appropriate response.

The belt was pulled free of his pants and Dean's heart leapt into his throat when Gemma used it to fasten his hands to the headboard. Nervousness prickled at the back of his mind but he was still beyond argument at this point. Gemma, now straddling his hips, pushed another forceful kiss to Dean's lips before leaning into his ear.

"This is what you deserve…" she whispered.

"Yeah…" was all he could utter in response. But what he heard next made is blood run cold.

"I've been waiting for this for a long time, Dean Winchester."

Her voice was suddenly ferocious; deep and gravelly and hideous. Dean's eyes flicked open and he gasped at the sight; Gemma's skin had gone ghostly white, her eyes were ringed in black and her pupils had turned bright red.

"What the-?"

Pulling a tiny knife from the ankle of her shoe, she cut him off with a swift slice across his torso. He cried out but she slammed a cold hand across his mouth before much sound could escape. Dean tugged on the belt holding him to the headboard but he already felt substantially weaker from the injury.

"I'm gonna eat you alive, Dean Winchester," she growled, inches from Dean's face, and a genuine wave of terror ran down his spine. As he continued to pull on the belt she wiped some of the blood from his torso with her forefinger and licked it clean, before slashing him across the chest once more.

"I've been after you so long, this is almost too good to be true." She grinned with yellow teeth. She was about to thrust the blade into Dean's throat when the door burst open and a gunshot rang out.

Gemma tumbled from the bed, landing on all fours and with buckshot holes in the back of her shirt. She snarled viciously as Sam and Bobby stormed inside, both armed with shotguns. They fired again and missed; Gemma leapt from the second story window with a terrifying screech.

Sam ran to the bed and swiftly freed Dean as Bobby aimed his weapon out the window, but Gemma was nowhere in sight. He turned back to the brothers to find Dean groaning in pain and Sam hastily clutching a ruined bed sheet to Dean's chest in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

"Son of a bitch."

Bobby shelved the weapons and helped Sam support Dean downstairs to the couch. They laid him out and Sam began cleaning and stitching his brother's wounds, employing hefty amounts of alcohol for both sterilizing and drinking. Dean yelped as the liquid touched the gashes.

"Quit complaining and suck it up," Sam commanded. He began to sew the cuts back together as he turned to Bobby. "What the hell was that?"

"Worse than I feared," said Bobby shortly. "Something I've heard about by reputation, but that's the first one I've seen with my own eyes."

"What's it called?"

"Their proper name is a Polysoma, but most people just call 'em Sythens. They're a special, mean kinda demon that can go virtually undetected once they possess someone and start using them to kill people."

"Which is why we didn't pick it up on Gemma."

"Exactly. They can withstand all the regular demon tests. Which is unfortunate for us…"

"And her," Sam commented grimly.

"They're nasty little bastards; they like seducing their victims, tying them down and slowly eating them alive, piece by piece. Apparently they like to start by drinking the blood and end up gnawing on your intestines."

"Awesome," Dean grunted sarcastically from the couch as his brother finished sewing up his injuries. "That bitch owes me a new shirt."

"I don't know how to kill 'em," continued Bobby, "but I do know how to track 'em and what their weakness is. We need a map, salt water and matches."

Fifteen minutes later they had a map of the area spread out on the table, and Bobby had fetched a flask of salt water from the trunk of the Impala. At Bobby's command, Dean, clutching his chest painfully, poured the water until it covered the map, and Sam dropped a lit match on top of it. Inexplicably, the map instantly caught fire and all but one small section was burned away.

Bobby picked up the scrap and squinted at it. "She's down by Old Timber Lake."

The trio were packed and in the car quicker than lightning. Dean sped down the country road at more than double the speed limit, with Sam and Bobby checking and re-checking their weapons, readying themselves for anything.

Less than ten minutes later, the car pulled up beside a clump of pine trees next to the lake and the men sprang from the vehicle almost before Dean even cut the ignition. As if she knew they were coming, Gemma's eyes flashed from behind a nearby tree and the men wasted no time giving chase. She was quick, but they were prepared; Dean and Bobby took her down with two quick shotgun rounds to the legs, and Sam launched himself onto her back. She clawed at him and left a large gash across his cheek, but he managed to sink a syringe in her neck and inject its contents into her bloodstream. As the salt water disappeared the girl collapsed almost instantly, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

Gemma tugged at the ropes digging into her arms and ankles. "Guys, what's going on?" she called. Having woken up tied to a chair in the abandoned house she fell asleep in, she had seen the Winchesters and Bobby, but they refused to speak to her. They simply walked by occasionally without acknowledging her, or talked about her as though she was an object to be observed. The side of her neck itched and she desperately needed to know what was happening.

In the next room, Bobby faced the brothers grimly. "You boys know what we have to do now, don't you?"

Dean's face was stern as Sam's chin fell to his chest.

_"Guys, that was Rufus." Bobby's expression was bleak as he made his way back inside. "He said there's only one surefire way to kill a Sythen."_

_ "We've got plenty of salt water left; do we have to make an antidote or something to force it outta her?" Sam asked, almost desperately._

_ Bobby sighed sadly. "It's a little worse than that, I'm afraid."_

Sam entered the room slowly, forlorn, and yet Gemma was just happy he was finally making eye contact with her. Her elation diminished, however, when she thought she noticed a wet streak down his cheek.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Gemma." His voice was hoarse. "I'm so, so sorry."

"What for? Sam, please tell me what's going on."

"I'm sorry," was all he seemed able to utter, his voice cracking, and a ray of sunlight glinted as he raised a machete in his hands. For a moment it all suddenly became clear to Gemma, and her mind exploded in a cacophony of understanding, fear, and regret.

Nothing was heard but a swift _chink-thud_ as the possessed head was separated from its owner, and everything was done.


End file.
